Talk to Me
by ABoxOfMacaronsPlease
Summary: At first Haruhi was confused. Why couldn't her mother come back? But as the days progressed she found out more about the term known as "death". She already felt the trauma unknowingly, but her realization made things worse. Skipping breakfast and maturing early were bite-sized problems, but shutting herself out from the world was another thing. Her father was especially worried.
1. Ignorance is Bliss

**A/N: Hello! I apologize for the delay, as my schedule was pretty packed the previous day. Thankfully I got this and "Plus Four" done in time! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this second last installment for the miniseries (or of course you can keep this as a stand-alone)! Hopefully I've made minimal errors. :3**

**Disclaimer: Ouran High School Host Club belongs to Bisco Hatori.**

* * *

Haruhi sat by the door of her parents' room, staring at the wall across her. Behind the strong but thin paper of the shoji, her father's sobs were audible to the four-year-old.

Clearly Haruhi's father was upset, so why didn't he make an effort to bring his wife back?

The last day she saw her mother in the hospital, Haruhi cried. She cried in confusion, but also because of a mysterious hurt that sprung in her heart. Her father was another reason, too. He cried, and seeing her usually outgoing father so sad made the brunette feel equally as melancholic. It wasn't until the nurse came in to escort Haruhi out did she stop crying, as the confusion took over. She may have been playing in a different room, but her father's behaviour stuck to her.

Influence spread far, especially when it came to the connections between parents and their offspring. So, seeing her caring father grow frantic and hurt over his beloved wife made Haruhi cling to the feeling—she just didn't know why she felt the same thing all on her own.

The following funeral was equally as morose as the time at the hospital. Its ambience was not something to relish in. Haruhi's mother wasn't there, according to her father; but she knew that, in some way, she was.

There was a lack of words exchanged, but each one spoken had a much deeper meaning than the average sentence.

"My condolences," majority of the funeral attendees had said, before leaving to move on with their own lives.

It confused Haruhi, as her four-year-old mind couldn't quite process it. Therefore she had to learn—_know_ more.

The brunette sighed. Her head started to ache a little the moment she tried to dig deeper into the situation. Haruhi shook her head.

"Maybe I'll know what it is. One day," she whispered.

Her father's shattered cries continued behind the paper that divided the dark room and the rest of the Fujioka residence.

* * *

The five-year-old clutched a book to her chest as she made her way to her room after a quick trip from the bathroom. Her birthday just passed by, moving on without anything exciting happening.

Haruhi was given a book by her father, one that dealt with slightly more advanced topics. Studying and reading brought solace to the little girl, as she needed a way to leave her troubles. She was five years old, but she was no ordinary one.

It also wasn't that long ago that she realized what was really affecting her.

Trauma.

Pain.

Hurt.

A sort of mourning—a stint of the feeling perhaps. Her mother had recently passed away after all.

She didn't mean to know. At a young age she had discovered the meaning of death. Her deceased mother was proof as she struggled through death's dark, clawing grasp. That was how five-year-old Haruhi defined it: overwhelming, sadistic, and disparaging of life; she learned the words in a dictionary.

She wanted a way to cope, so keeping the world silent was her solution.

They said ignorance was bliss, and Haruhi certainly took delight in that saying.

She wished she could reverse the clock and forget about death—forget about all the suffering that the world truly brought.

She wished she could have left her father to attend to her mother on his own that final day, and she would remain unknowing of what had happened. Completely oblivious—completely ignorant. But that was cruel of her, and so she remained; and she shared the same sorrow as her father. Yet to her, ignorance was, in fact, bliss.

Because not knowing anything was sometimes the time of the life. However, Haruhi wanted to expand and learn, so her wants were contradicting each other. In the end she chose the former.

"Haruhi?" called Ryoji. "Are you not eating breakfast again?"

The little brunette shook her head.

"I'm not hungry," she uttered, but her protesting stomach said otherwise. Then she entered her room in silent hunger. More studying to do.

* * *

_"Haruhi," said Kotoko, "promise me you'll be strong, okay?"_

_The four-year-old cocked her head to the side. She clutched her ill mother's hand tighter. They were at a hospital, with the older brunette staying for treatment of her unknown illness . . . if the doctors could ever find one._

_"Why?" wondered Haruhi._

_"Because, like now, I won't be with you all the time. You'll need to be strong in this world." Kotoko looked towards the window. "So promise me that, okay?"_

_Haruhi still didn't quite understand, but she nodded anyway._

_"Okay."_

_She just had a different way of showing it._

The five-year-old girl read a cookbook, learning how to form some onigiri for dinner. It seemed basic enough to her, so she wanted to give it a shot. She rolled the rice around, attempting to recreate the shape of the image on the book. Her father entered the apartment, but she ignored him and continued with her task.

"Ah, Haruhi!" said Ryoji. "You're making dinner?"

No answer.

Ryoji walked to where Haruhi was, and watched her make the rice balls.

"That looks nice!" Ryoji said, but once again he wasn't given a response.

All Haruhi did was focus her attention on the rice. When she was finished—in the end she decided on four large ones—she transferred them onto two plates, one for her and one for her father. The five-year-old nearly dropped the plates when she bumped into her father, who still stood behind her.

"D-Dad!" exclaimed the brunette.

Ryoji chuckled at his daughter's surprise.

"Here, let me help you with that." He grabbed the plates, and they started towards the dining room that also served as their living room.

Father and daughter ate in silence.

"Haruhi," began Ryoji, and his daughter looked up from her dish, "you really should start eating breakfast again. It's not good for your growing body."

The little girl merely hummed in response.

"Haruhi, please, listen to me. I don't think your mother would appreciate what you're doing to yourself—staying alone and making yourself all hungry. _I_ don't appreciate what you're doing, sweetie."

"I-I can't," she whispered. "I don't know."

She ignored her father for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Haruhi was about to sneak in a box of cereal, when Ryoji blocked her entry to the kitchen.

"Haruhi," he began, "before I go to work, I'd just like to apologize. Maybe I spoke too harshly, and for that I'm sorry." Ryoji extended his arms. "Forgive your papa?"

Ryoji looked like a fool, standing there with his arms extended in welcoming gesture. His silly, apologetic smile didn't help either. The brunette didn't run into his arms, but simply stood there. Then she laughed, before shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she said. "But I wanted to find some way to be strong."

Ryoji walked towards his daughter and patted her head.

"Sometimes being strong isn't about being alone. Let me know when you aren't feeling well, okay?"

"Maybe," Haruhi muttered. _Maybe._

She still didn't quite get the message.


	2. Voice

**Disclaimer: Ouran High School Host Club belongs to Bisco Hatori.**

* * *

It was raining. Hard. The rain pattered against the window, streaming down the glass in small waterfalls.

In the living room of the Fujioka residence was Haruhi Fujioka, hidden underneath the low table with a thin blanket wrapped around her.

She shook as she tried to focus on her gaze on the floor, chocolate eyes landing occasionally on the dark sky. The little girl was too frightened to close the curtains, so she ran around to grab a blanket and hide under the table of the living room instead. It was her way of dealing with the thunder that cracked the sky, along with the light show that came with it.

Suddenly, the five-year-old recalled a memory. It was during an equally stormy day. She and her parents decided to get ice cream a week after the tumultuous storm, just the three of them together. Her mother was there to comfort her, and her father even filed for a day off just to spend the day with his wife and only daughter.

Haruhi was touched, so she wanted to be independent and keep her father from worrying. But unbeknownst to the little girl, there were some things that independence won't fix. Such as her fear of thunder.

The sound of the door opening was heard, and moments later a pair of feet were in front of the shaking girl.

"Haruhi?"

She looked up and saw the slightly drenched form of her father.

Ryoji crouched at his daughter's level, just like he did in that memory when Kotoko was still alive. He extended his arms towards Haruhi, who accepted the embrace.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you," whispered Ryoji as he clutched his five-year-old daughter. "But I'm here now."

"It's okay, Dad." She enjoyed the warmth her father provided. It made all the fear in her vanish. "You had to work."

"But you can't ignore me. And I can't keep neglecting you just because the amount of money we have isn't so good right now."

The thunder and the accompaniment of a lightning flash went ignored, but its occurrence was acknowledged when Haruhi inched herself closer to her father.

"Say," Ryoji spoke, and he looked at his daughter, "how about we get ice cream once this storm is over? You and me, together; it'll be just like back then."

"But Mom is no longer with us."

"It'll never be the same, that I know for sure. Your mother may no longer be here, but she'll always remain in our hearts."

Haruhi smiled.

"Okay."

They went for ice cream the next day.

* * *

Haruhi started eating breakfast again, but only a little bit. Her father was working very hard just to provide for the both of them, and she didn't want to bother him. So her study habits persisted.

The five-year-old started to work on basic recipes as well. She moved on to her mother's easier dishes.

She also started to open up more, but still kept herself secluded. All she needed was a good book or study material, and Haruhi would be off in her own world. To study hard was to be able to get a chance to go to a good school as she grew older, and her chances of achieving her dream would increase; that was her logic.

"Haruhi, I'm home!" announced Ryoji as he took off his shoes, and Haruhi nodded before returning to her book.

Minutes later, Ryoji dressed out of his work clothes and sat beside his daughter. The man smiled as he watched his daughter read.

"I'm glad things are getting better," he said.

Haruhi glanced at her father, a small, questioning smile gracing her lips.

"What do you mean?"

Ryoji brought the brunette into an embrace, which she happily returned.

"Your mother would be very proud." Haruhi looked up.

"You mean it?"

Ryoji nodded at the six-year-old.

"She would be proud of how independent you've grown. You even learned how to cook a little, and your food is the absolute best!" The man's gaze became a little forlorn. "I'm just so sorry I couldn't be there all the time."

"It's okay," replied Haruhi. "You have to work for our needs, which is why I'm trying my best at school."

"Honey, you're still very early into your education. So don't worry too much."

Haruhi shook her head.

"I need to be recognized," she reasoned. "If I'm not, then how am I able to help you in the future?"

"You're so kind, Haruhi . . ." Tears started to leak out of the man's eyes. Haruhi scooched towards her father and wiped his tears.

"Because Mom died, I now know what I must do," she began. "I wish to help you from your problems in the future."

Ryoji grasped his daughter's hands.

"But don't just focus on my problems. I'm a grownup, dear. Work your way out of yours first. Even you have struggles to get through." Haruhi tilted her head at her father's words. "And if you can't find a way out, then talk to me. Maybe I'll find some way to help you."

"But I don't know if I could."

"Then talk to me."

"But—"

"Talk to me, please. Promise me this?"

Haruhi looked down, before nodding.

"Okay."

"Promise?" Ryoji stuck out a pinkie, to which Haruhi took with her own.

"Promise."

* * *

"Haruhi, what's wrong?" asked Ryoji, worriedly.

"It's nothing," answered the fifteen-year-old as she continued reading her textbook. Ryoji ran a hand through his maroon locks with a sigh. His daughter's eyes remained glued to the book.

"I know there's something bothering you." The tranny wrapped an arm around his daughter. "Please tell me. Remember our promise years ago?"

Haruhi averted her gaze to her father, before suddenly choking on a laugh.

"What?"

"It's not something problematic, so don't worry. It's just . . . I've been so happy lately, and it's driving me a little crazy."

"Happy?" That was definitely something that wasn't in Haruhi's everyday vocabulary.

"Ever since I met the Host Club," Haruhi explained, "I've felt far happier than I've ever been since Mom's death. Every day at Ouran started becoming something to look forward to."

Ryoji smiled warmly.

"That's good to hear." The brunette chuckled as she recalled a certain memory.

"It's hard to believe that I met such wonderful people from accidentally breaking a Renaissance vase."

The maroon-haired man laughed.

"I'm glad you're happy, sweetie."

Haruhi's lips were tilted upwards.

"I also know now what it means to rely on others." Haruhi looked at the book in her arms. "Sometimes being independent isn't good. Isolation doesn't quite mean true independence or strength—I've learned that now. But," she glanced back at Ryoji, "I still have a long way to go."

The man chuckled.

"And hopefully your friends will be there with you every step of the way."

"I ho—no, I _know_ so." The Host Club's loyalty towards each other was proof enough. Father and daughter shared a laugh, and the latter began to enlighten her father with some of the memories she made while hosting.

It was at the age of fifteen that Haruhi started to get the message. Still, she knew it was only the first step.


End file.
